


Black and White

by Doctorinblue



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Henry being Henry, Other, made myself sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-05
Updated: 2020-03-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:14:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23030761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doctorinblue/pseuds/Doctorinblue
Summary: Henry's missing his family
Kudos: 7





	Black and White

**Author's Note:**

  * For [onekisstotakewithme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/onekisstotakewithme/gifts).



> Thanks Ally for offering me the super soaker idea!

When he's scribbled his name on the last line of the day and shooed Radar off to the relative safety of his bunk, Henry finally feels his shoulders relax. Dropping his favorite pen on the desk, he slips down lower into the chair, resting his head against the back, trying to convince himself that he's beat, that all he wants is a drink and his bed. It's not working, not entirely, not with the silent sound of the camp, all asleep or sleeping around, leaving him with these few short, precious, hours -barring wounded or wandering corporals - to do as he pleases.

Korea seems to have a surplus of time, time to wound and kill and shatter, but he can never quite find enough to catch his breath. No, not tonight. He won't do this tonight. He won't go there, won't see young faces and old tears and the distance he's stretching himself to be home and here at once. Or trying to, anyway.  
Henry lets out a too long exhale, feels a winning case for melancholy forming inside his head. He should seek out a warm body, bury himself in the moment, the feelings, until he's finally able to forget, for just a moment, where he is, what he's doing, and what it's costing them all. (And he's one of the lucky ones.) But, the truth of the matter is he's too lonely surrounded by all these people, and he's too empty tonight to do something as sensible as falling into a nurse. No, punishment as a reward is just what he needs to forget.

Dumping the last of the cold coffee into his mouth, he gulps it down and stares into the brown ring inside the mug. There's something about it that calls out to him, something about the drops remaining at the bottom that stands out in the harsh army lighting.

He slips the mug onto the corner of his desk and shuffles over to the door to peer out into the larger room. It's dim, never dark, and he can clearly see Radar sleeping off the day cuddled up to his bear. He thinks some part of Radar understands this, no matter how often he has to fetch the boys to help. A million miles away from home, at least inside his heart, he's left with hurt and imagination. What's a Colonel to do?

He can either allow himself to imagine the soft tone of his wife's voice and drown in a bottle, or he can undo his belt, his zipper, and pump his super soaker to full power. It's hardly a choice, but in the end, it's been decided for him. No matter how he touches the mug, his new and less impressive desk, he can't get his wife out of his head. What is she doing while he's doing this? Is she at the store? With the kids? Is she okay, missing him like hell.....

He lets out a slow breath, feels the blood draining out of his pocket snake first, then his body. He shoves himself away, shuffles over to his chair and collapses into it. The room spins, and for a moment his breath comes too fast. He's seen this before, of course. In other people. Too much stress. When can he pencil himself for some R&R? When can he actually put down the load, trust that someone else, a not-Frank, will be there to pick it up? To look after his adopted family when he returns home at last?

Unlocking his drawer, he slides it open and digs carefully past the junk. There, safe at the very bottom, are two pictures he's kept only to himself. His wife, his girls, so perfect in these moments, frozen in time, that he can't bring himself to pass them around, pin them up. Share.

He strokes his thumb over the picture, swallows a few times before he dares to exhale. It only comes out as a half-sob, and the single tear doesn't seem to matter so much. There, right before his eyes, is his whole world. They're smiling right at him, right into the camera and the black and white of the photo doesn't dampen the vibrant color of the memory.

The summer grass is green beneath their feet, their dresses are blue, and there is the scent of warmth and berries in his nose, pulled into his lungs. He was so alive then, how did he miss it? The flowers in their hands, yellows, and reds, the sound of his wife's laughter fills his ears, the empty room, and God he's dying to hold them, her. If he could just roll back the clock, he'd never let them go. He'd keep that moment forever, never let himself be taken overseas, never let himself miss school work and late nights and milestones that only happen once in a lifetime.

Time's never felt so cruel a companion as right now.

When he gets home, he'll not waste another moment. They'll hear bedtime stories, and he'll be their boyfriends, their best friends before they grow up and outgrow him. Before they realize he isn't anything special at all. He's just a man trying to be a dad and hoping he'll give them enough of himself to carry them through life.  
Henry leans back and closes his eyes, tucks the pictures to his chest, and the sound of silence is just enough to cower inside until dawn.


End file.
